


Burning Breakfasts

by moon_hedgehog



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Bromance, M/M, One Shot, Post-Canon, Silly, i wrote instead of something serious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-15
Packaged: 2019-06-11 00:31:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15303498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moon_hedgehog/pseuds/moon_hedgehog
Summary: In which Connor's trying to be useful, Hank is just tired, Gavin has a secret (probably), and the police station is still the best place for gossips.





	Burning Breakfasts

**Author's Note:**

> o. don't ask why Gabriel, i just love the name.  
> hello to my new ship.

The rumor that Lieutenant Hank Anderson has gotten himself a girlfriend spread faster than a forest fire.

After the revolution, the whole country had been standing on hedgehogs' needles, every sneeze to the side was almost like banned, and the reporters so and did that were dancing around androids and their newly-building state. The police of Detroit imitated activity with all powers, at times sending its officers to completely brainless calls like “Mike took a chewing gum from Sam, and they're feuding now”. Jeffrey, of course, wasn't quite pleased with such work himself, but at least any rebellion of extremists had all chances to be cut off in a bud, and the city was still holding, not falling apart and dismantling into bricks. With such everyday life there was absolutely zero boredom – nevertheless, by some miracle everybody had time to notice that the famous, personally engaged in deviants' case Hank, who was tricked into working in the current conditions as well, had been managing to safely finish all his both field and station affairs, and return to home at 9:00pm sharply. As an exemplary family man.

At first, it was noticed by Jeffrey himself. Then by Gavin. Then by the whole station. Not that at least one of them was brave enough to ask directly – so behind the back of old Lieutenant were building whole spider webs, which would envy even the adherents of the conspiracy theories. Every morning, to the own table, he was escorted by a pair of curious, hungry eyes, and every evening the same pair followed him out of the building.

Firstly was brought up some nice little foreigner lady, whom the Lieutenant mentioned last year (being dragged to the general celebration of Christmas, and very drunk). Secondly – Hank's neighbor Emilie-somewhat, who, after that very celebration, offered him headache pills and chocolate biscuits. Third in a row for some reason surfaced the Eden Club, and from it with antennas spread a theory that the precious Lieutenant, right at the time of the investigation, fell in love with one of the androids-Traci, and after the club was closed, took her to himself. No matter how dramatic and well thought out this version was, it actually somehow immediately disappeared. It wasn't in Hank's taste.

Androids weren't at his taste at all, actually.

 

Connor tried very hard. Honestly-honestly. As a good, absolutely non-problematic deviant, every morning he woke up early and pulled away the curtains of their shared room. Put a collar on Sumo, fastened his leash, and walked exactly thirty minutes and forty-five seconds. Went home, washed dog's paws, and cooked crispy waffles. With a success of 20% served them on the table, and blinked pleasantly with a diode on his temple, seeing the Lieutenant in the kitchen door.

He, for some reason, always remained dissatisfied. Lying on their common (“so far!!!” - as he didn't fail to scream every single day) bed and catching sharp sunlight in his eyes, he cussed Connor out on what the world stands. Came to rewash Sumo, in the fur of whom, after a walk, were twice as many spines as it was on him before. Fought with a desire to call firefighters, extinguishing the menacingly smoking toaster and, for some reason, the pots. Without ceasing to swear, drank a cup of half-done coffee in one gulp, waved goodbye and ran off to work. Still with a displeased face.

At some point, with a righteous fire, in Connor flared up his newly acquired deviantness. Really all that he received after saving thousands of lives (including the Lieutenant's), helping Markus and fighting his own demons was this? Hank had long had to come up with something, not forcing him to hang out in his own house for hours and days! Standing by the window and watching the street cat playing with a ray of light, Connor thought about two things. First – it's finally time to take this poor animal under their roof. Second – soon the Lieutenant will understand what the former androids sent by CyberLife are capable of.

 

Hank leaned over the body of a mutilated android and sighed wearily. Such crap had happened often, pity that the entire police station wandered around the city like mad dogs. For some mysterious reason, it was he, the Lieutenant, who'd been getting most of the cases about living machines – and it was he, the Lieutenant, always groaning desperately, mentally returning to the same individual at his house. The problems at worked mixed with the problems at home (for example because of the breakfast Hank had to jump in drunk six in the morning, in another case contemplating another sweet arson of his kitchen), he didn't get enough sleep and grumbled at each colleague more than before, nevertheless finding time to prance in the direction of the exit to nine. If he'd be too late – his home deviant will walk Sumo for the second time in a day, and the fur of this fighter won't be possible to wash even with a hose. That's what suffering had to be borne by a middle-aged, formerly giving bright hopes Lieutenant of the Detroit police.

Hank's shoulder was gently touched, and he turned immediately. Behind him danced Gavin, freezing his ass in early spring, and stretching out the portable radio, forgotten in the car for practical uselessness. It's strange that in such years of progress stepping over itself and creating a new race, some police states were still using this old rubbish. Strange, but… not surprising.

Hank picked up the radio, and Jeffrey sniffed in his ear.

“What do you want?” the Lieutenant asked not too kindly, mentally counting down to nine. The arrow of his new-fashioned watch (gifted, of course, by Connor) was pointing at six o'clock, and this started to make nervous. On the arrow of his watch, Hank, however, looked seldom. “Technologies!”

“We have...” Jeffrey paused as if he didn't know from which side to approach this information. “Someone's waiting for you.” And instantly cutting off all questions, grunted only: “Come-” pressed the end button.

Gavin peeped out from behind Hank's shoulder. His face expressed the first degree of allergy (probably to melting snow), and Anderson wanted to send him to bed, not drag along to the station. That's just, all the same, they had to drag themselves to the station – the order is an order, and to staff weren't be given any breaks.

Hank had a twisting feeling in his stomach. Unpleasant.

 

A twisting unpleasant feeling raved like a tornado, when Hank saw the reason of his arrival. The reason was dressed in a showy blue suit, with a carefully ironed tie and a permanent white-tooth smile on the face. Next to the reason was standing a model, the number of which the Lieutenant remembered as RK900, his carefully licked hair evoked mixed feelings of slight disgust, and the ideal-white – almost wedding – suit suited perfectly. Earlier than Hank had time to open his mouth and wonder what kind of bullshit was going on here, his colleague jumped out of his back with his arms outstretched and rushed to the RK900.

“What are you doing here?” Gavin hissed, dancing around the android who clearly was too high for him.

For a second, obviously the whole department gathered at the same place froze. Anderson wouldn't be surprised with a picture of the fading jaws of particularly impressionable ones. Jeffrey, flickering somewhere in the background of his office, surely didn't know how to react to that either, so Hank had to wait for answers from Connor – strictly, the second present android. Would he be less restrained, long ago would've followed Gavin's example, running to his stupid piece of iron and… wait.  _His_?

“Hank,” the android bowed his head almost politely, and the Lieutenant mentally added another point on the list of “why I should kill Connor”. “Me and Gabriel,” he nodded at his newest model, “decided that we could also be quite useful here, as things pour onto the heads of glorious Detroit police department with an endless stream _(Hank could've sworn that somewhere in those words was hidden the mockery)_. We've already asked permission from the captain-" he nodded toward Jeffrey, still imitating a statue “-and got an unconditional permission.”

Unconditional? Since when did Jeffrey dream to hire androids, after what had happened?

“What?!” in such simple words laid out the whole storm of Hank's indignation Gavin. He was still spinning around RK900, sniffing with a cold red nose and shining eyes. Deviant - “Gabriel” - switched to him the glance of dying tranquility and barely noticeably nodded, almost like saying “we'll talk at home”.

The Lieutenant frowned involuntarily. The room around him vibrated with general bewilderment, and for a brief moment, Hank managed to notice how Jeffrey simply shrugged and disappeared from the field of view, leaving two androids (and, no doubt, their partners) for the curious crowd, ready to tear them apart.

 

The Detroit police station was undoubtedly the most professional in terms of providing immediate assistance. Same for the gossips. But sometimes it was ridiculously mistaken in all its theories, not noticing the most obvious. Those secrets that were hidden under its nose. And as soon as the truth was publicized… well, not all survived.

Detective Gavin Reed once again for a day thought that the opportunity to melt in the air would be very useful in his life – peering at Gabriel's photo, surrounded by pink hearts, which some intelligent colleague attached to his desk.


End file.
